The Trial of the Bow: Vignettes
by Starry Nightengale
Summary: Ficlets of varying length set during and after the "Trial of the Bow" trilogy of medieval fantasy AU's inspired by Portal, Blue Sky, and Portal Stories: Mel (see author Elvenwhovian). If you haven't checked those out yet, I recommend you do so. Mostly based on a series of prompts requested of me on my Tumblr account, so the stories aren't in any kind of chronological order.
1. Foxglove's Day Out

_[a character tries to cheer someone up]_

Foxglove couldn't remember how long it had been since she had last set foot outside her tower _._

Sir Garret and the townspeople had long told her that there were no longer any obligations binding her to this outpost of the king, but she had remained, held in place by fear instead of duty. When Sir Wheatley came along, she was finally a bit more inclined to believe his and Garret's word that she was truly free, and even managed to cross the threshold out into the fields that very night– although the circumstances had been dire and her mind burdened with far more urgent matters than taking in her surroundings.

It had taken her several weeks, but she had finally worked up the courage to leave the tower of her own accord, to finally explore the town around it. Though it had always been so close, it felt as thrilling and unfamiliar as visiting a foreign kingdom.

Garret had been kind enough to accompany her for the outing, which she appreciated greatly. He led her through town, answering all her queries with an amused and affectionate air, and often found himself left in the dust as she scampered off to inspect each new and exciting thing that captured her attention.

She knew how childish it must have appeared, but she couldn't help herself really. It was all so different from the stuffy room she had hid herself in for so long: very "outside-y" as Sir Wheatley might have put it. There were so many colors and sounds and smells, it boggled her mind. She could identify most of the things she saw from past visions and the intuition that came naturally to her as an Ellet, but it was hardly the same thing as experiencing all of it first-hand. Even looking out across the landscape from her platform on the tower's battlement– and seeing golden fields melt into hazy gray in the distance before turning upwards and becoming blue sky, reminding her how _big_ the world truly was– had nothing on getting to see a small sliver of it up close. The small, seemingly-insignificant sliver of the world, that she and her friends happened to call _home._

Finally Garret caught up to her, explaining rather guiltily that there was business he had to attend to at the market pavilion, and he would have to take leave of her for a while.

Foxglove smiled at him, though she did feel a twinge of disappointment, and assured him that she would be fine on her own until he returned.

And so he left, albeit reluctantly, and not before taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze, reminding her that if something came up, she would need only fetch him from the marketplace in the center of town.

With that, they parted, and Foxglove continued her tour of Eaden alone.

She wandered aimlessly, politely greeting the various people she passed by. Indeed, if there was one thing that put her off about the outside world, it was the stares she received from many of the townsfolk. They weren't hostile or disrespectful stares– on the contrary, at times they seemed a bit _too_ reverent. Like she was some sort of deity, and they were trying to decide whether they should kneel before her or not. It was understandable, she supposed, as most of them weren't used to interacting with a someone of the Ellet race. But really, all she wanted was to feel like she was one of them.

Almost without realizing it, she had arrived in the part of Eaden where most of the farmers lived, and was suddenly shaken out of her thoughts by what sounded like weeping, coming from the other side of one of the barns. Curious, she followed the sound, which was soon joined by two different voices, these with spirits of laughter instead of sorrow.

Finally, peering around a corner, she could see the three young children that were the sources of the noise. Two nearly-identical boys had been tossing a small white object between them and laughing, as a much smaller girl tried in vain to rescue it from them, with cries of distress eschewing from her all the while. Finally she'd thrown herself on the ground and allowed the tears to flow, while the two boys stopped their game and urged her to stop making such a fuss.

Foxglove emerged from her vantage point and approached the children, her jaw tightening in indignation. She cleared her throat.

The two boys jumped at the sound, having not heard her coming due to the lightness of her footfalls. The girl looked up from the ground, sniffling. All three pairs of eyes widened.

"Shame on you both," Foxglove scolded, her gaze seeming to penetrate deep into the boys' very souls. "You are not to treat a young lady with such discourtesy!"

The boys cowered. "W-we were just playing," one of them tried, timidly.

"Yeah," his brother added, not daring to meet the Ellet woman's gaze. "I-it was a joke."

"A joke, was it?" said Foxglove, her voice still firm. "Well I don't think it very funny. And more importantly, I don't think _she_ does either."

Her gaze softened as she bent down and offered her hand to the little girl, who had at least stopped crying. The girl stared silently at her outstretched hand, before hesitantly taking it, allowing the Ellet to gently pull her to her feet.

Foxglove kept hold of the girl's hand as one of the troublemakers spoke up. "You won't tell our mother about this, will you?" he asked nervously.

"Perhaps," Foxglove said curtly. She had no idea who their mother was, but neither of them needed to know that. "Provided you give this young lady your sincerest apologies and return her property to her, you might be able to buy my silence on the matter."

The boys hastily retrieved the white object from where it had fallen momentarily-forgotten on the ground (Foxglove now saw that it was a stuffed doll in the shape of a rabbit) and handed it to the little girl, who took it from them and hugged it tightly. They murmured their apologies before making themselves scarce, leaving Foxglove and the girl alone in the field.

Foxglove knelt to the girl's level and smiled warmly at her. "Are you alright?" she asked.

The girl nodded slowly, her greenish-gray eyes wide. Foxglove winced inwardly, recognizing the look in her eyes as practically identical to the one she'd seen in that of the townsfolk she'd passed by on her journey through town.

She spoke again, softly, trying to put the girl at ease. "What's your name, sweet one?"

The girl dropped her gaze and buried her face in her doll. Though her reply was almost muffled by the felt, Foxglove's keen ears picked up on it all the same.

" _Ellie_ ," she repeated. "That's a wonderful name. Mine is Foxglove."

Ellie nodded again. "I kno'…" she murmured shyly, nosing further into her rabbit friend's skillfully-woven fur, her eyes flicking briefly upward before returning to the ground. "Y-yu sing rilly prtty…"

Foxglove smiled again. "Why thank you," she said, her own eyes lighting up. It seemed she was getting somewhere, at least.

"…It seems to be getting late," she remarked, glancing up at the sky. "Do you live nearby? I could take you home if you like."

There was a brief silence, during which Ellie stared at Foxglove in her curious way, before once again nodding at her and pointing in the direction of one of the farmhouses down the road. With that, Foxglove straightened, once again took little Ellie's hand in her own, and the two of them made their way out of the field.

As they walked, Ellie slowly but surely overcame her shyness as Foxglove chatted gently to her and asked her questions. Ellie, too, was acquainted with Sir Wheatley, much to Foxglove's surprise and amusement, and they both laughed good-naturedly as the girl recounted her memory of watching him nearly bring down the market pavilion during his first few days in town. In turn, Foxglove, enlisting a bit of help from her powers of clairvoyance, regaled Ellie with a charming fable about a rabbit that lost to a turtle in a race.

Finally, Ellie bulked up enough courage to ask Foxglove to sing the song she had astounded the town with those many days ago, to show that her tower was finally working again.

Flushing slightly with modesty, Foxglove complied.

 _Sky of blue, for long you have been hiding_

 _Sky of blue, why did you fly away…_

The song had just about come to an end by the time they reached the door of Ellie's home. When her mother answered the knock, Foxglove could see her trying to hide her astonishment at the sight of who had brought her daughter home.

"Thank you kindly, my lady," she said, taking her daughter into her arms.

"Y-yes, thank you…" Ellie agreed, her mother's reaction apparently reminding her of her timidity.

"Oh, please, it was no trouble," Foxglove assured them both. "It was wonderful to meet you, Ellie."

Giving the girl another warm smile, she added. "Perhaps you would like to visit me in the tower sometime. I'd love to tell stories with you again."

Ellie brightened at this and nodded her agreement, and Foxglove felt a warm glow blossom in her chest at the prospect of having made yet another friend.

With that, she bid the girl and her mother goodbye, and proceeded to the marketplace to meet with Garret once more. It seemed that her first real trip outside her tower had proved to be a triumph- a huge success.


	2. Eaden's Last Stand

_[a character fights for/with/against someone]_

Wheatley had to admit it: he was on a roll.

Maybe wearing the armor of a full-fledged knight had given him a much needed confidence boost; maybe it was because he knew he and his friends had an entire host of Ellet warriors to back them up; or maybe he really had learned something in those long-ago days of knight training after all. But somehow or other he had managed to hold his own in the battle remarkably well up to this point.

As a wide swing of his blade sent another foe flying across the room, Wheatley called over his shoulder to Garret, who was fighting nearby.

"That's the fifth one in a row, mate," he bragged, just barely dodging an attack from the right. He dispatched that fellow as well.. "Oh no wait, tell a lie– make that six! So yeah. How many have you taken down again?"

Garret smirked. "Not sure. I lost count after I hit a baker's dozen," he replied.

Wheatley turned, opening his mouth to retort, when he suddenly caught sight of the blacksmith dealing a final blow to an enemy almost twice is size. (It took Wheatley a moment to recognize him as The Escort.)

The two comrades locked eyes for a moment, Garret appearing mildly amused at Wheatley's slack jaw and widened eyes. The knight sputtered briefly before jabbing a finger pointedly in the fallen foe's general direction. "Okay but that only counts as one!"

"Fine with me," Garret conceded. "On your left!"

Wheatley heeded his warning and brought his shield up to intercept an oncoming spear. He grinned, impressed.

"Wow… thanks for that, mate! Remind me to never talk bad about your facial hair ever again."

"…What?"

"Erm, nothing…"

* * *

Chell had only used the magic Bow in self-defense twice before, and that was a time she didn't care to think about. But she found it wasn't all that different from solving the puzzles in the Labyrinth, and once again her quick reflexes and clear head proved essential.

With the _whizz_ of an arrow, one fire-ringed opening appeared on the ceiling of the chamber, with another on the floor directly below a group of half-a-dozen adversaries. They tumbled through space, falling through the adjacent openings and landing right on top of another cluster of soldiers. The terrible clatter of armor against armor could be clearly heard above the fray.

A glint of victory in her eye, the Lady Chell retrieved another arrow from the quiver at her back and repeated the process.

* * *

As valiantly as the joint Eaden-Ellet army fought, however, many noticed with increasing alarm and dismay that they didn't seem to be gaining any ground.

The Queen's soldiers may have been no match for the combined might of the Ellet and all 110-some residents of Eaden, but the Queen Herself was a different story altogether. She stood tall against the far wall of the chamber, flames shooting from the tips of Her fingers, spell after spell falling effortlessly from Her lips, impervious to arrow and sword alike. As long as She remained standing, She would be able to keep them at bay until they all fell one by one. The rage burning in Her eyes rivalled even the fireballs She hurled at Her enemies.

The thought seemed to hit them all simultaneously, like a lightning strike through water:

 _How on earth are we going to win this?_

Sir Wheatley and Garret soon appeared at Lady Chell's side. As the three of them fought back to back, Wheatley's mind raced to think of something that might turn the tide in their favor.

His eyes fell upon the Queen where She stood, and of the Crown she wore. Just looking at it nearly made him feel sick to his stomach; It was that bloody thing that had started this whole mess from the beginning…

…!

 _That's it…!_

"I think I have an idea," he said, finally, and Chell was surprised at the solemnity in his voice.

"Follow me."


	3. The Terrible Idea

_[drabble of a character asking someone to do something or go somewhere]_

" _Wheatley, please. You don't have to do this."_

The knight dropped his gaze, unable to meet the eyes of the woman who stared pleadingly at him through the enchanted glass.

"Yes I do," he said quietly. The cursed artifact upon his head seemed to hum. Though its influence was no longer overpowering, it still took a good deal of effort on his part to ignore the constant poisonous thoughts it attempted to whisper in his ears. He didn't know how long he could take it.

"Chell, don't you see? Taking it off and- and locking it up somewhere isn't enough. You can hide it in the ruins of some ancient city or, or feed it to a dragon or whatever you like. But as long as this Crown exists, someone will find it and use it to mess things up for everyone, and I'm bloody sick of it!"

" _So am I,"_ Lady Chell insisted. _"But there has to be some other way."_ The desperation in her voice almost caused his heart to break. _"Please, just come back upstairs. We can figure something out–"_

" **No, Chell!** " His voice came out a good deal louder than he'd anticipated, echoing off the walls of the storeroom and startling them both into silence for a moment.

"…I know what I have to do," he finally said. "Trust me, this is the only way to make sure this Crown is gone for good." His eyes met hers for what felt like the first time in the entire exchange. "And you heard what the Queen said. You'll never be free otherwise. This Crown– this, this thing– has caused you and everyone else enough pain and bother already."

"And if I'm being perfectly honest," he exhaled shakily. "I have, too."

" _Wheatley. Don't say that–"_

"Look, it's alright, okay? I- I've made my peace with it. But I promise, Chell, this time, I won't let you down. Not again." He lifted his hand and placed it on the glass, watching as she did the same. And for the briefest of moments, the incessant humming of the Crown seemed to quiet.

"Please. If I do one thing right in my entire miserable life, let it be this. Just this once… I need you to just give up. Alright? Can you do that for me, my love?"

" _Wheatley–!"_

Chell was cut off, as, with the power granted to him by the Crown, the wayward knight sent a burst of electricity through his hand and into the mirror, shattering it beyond repair.

He jumped back to avoid the shards splintering out from the frame, before turning on his heel, swallowing hard, and striding towards the reservoir…


	4. The Queen Awakens

[A prompt in which one character kills or otherwise incapacitates another]

" _Oh. It's_ you _."_

Both lady and knight froze on the spot.

As the reawakened monarch rose slowly to Her feet, the vines that had overgrown the room slithered away, and the decrepit stone walls repaired themselves instantly by their Mistress's unspoken command.

Her eyes flashed with barely concealed rage as they regarded the all-too-familiar form of the Lady Chell before Her. Chell returned Her stare with a steely-cold one of her own. Sir Wheatley trembled on the floor, where he had fallen after tripping over the Queen's… well they'd _thought_ it was a corpse a few minutes ago.

"It's been a long time," said the Queen slowly, eerily calm. She took a few steps forward, causing Chell to instinctively step back, pulling Wheatley to his feet. He retreated further and placed both his hands upon her shoulders. (An action which she surmised was meant to _appear_ protective and reassuring, when it was in actuality an excuse to hide behind her.)

The Queen continued. "How have you been? I've been very busy, being dead. You know…" Her tone of voice for the first time betrayed the slightest hint of the malice boiling within Her. "…after _you_ murdered me?"

Sir Wheatley peered around Chell's shoulder to fix her with a horrified stare. "Wait, _you_ were the one who–?! AGH!"

A gasp escaped the Lady Chell as her companion was suddenly lifted a few inches off the ground. He choked and struggled for breath as if he was hanging from an invisible noose. Chell glanced the Queen again, who had Her arm extended and Her hand curled into a clawlike shape. Her gaze remained on the archer in front of her, not even looking at the knight, even as She had him suspended magically by the throat.

Chell could do little else but glare at the Queen. _Put him down_.

Glados chuckled. "Oh, believe me. I'd much rather be doing this to you. But as it happens, I need you alive. For now. So in the meantime, I suppose he'll have to do." She closed Her hand into a fist, and Sir Wheatley's gasps came to a sudden halt. His body went limp, and with a flick of Her hand, Glados tossed him to the side, where he fell lifeless to the ground.

Chell felt like screaming. But suddenly she felt something take hold of her as well– though instead of an invisible force, these were real human arms: the knights that were still under the Queen's control. They took the Bow from her, and prepared to drag her out of the throne room.

"After all," continued Glados. "The Labyrinth still holds many secrets. And I for one am willing to put our differences behind us. For the sake of knowledge, of course."

Before the heavy front doors of the Queen's chamber were shut, Chell risked a final glance at the unmoving form of Sir Wheatley, and her heart was heavy. She vowed to find a way to escape Castle Aperture for his sake, as well as her own.


	5. The Queen's Favor

_[Prompt in which one character saves another]_

The Lady Chell had never failed before.

It simply wasn't a luxury you were afforded in Castle Aperture. And Chell had picked up a bit of a habit from her days facing the challenges of the Labyrinth: if the odds seemed impossible, she would simply shake her head in flat denial and proceed to look at the situation from new and different angles until it didn't seem so impossible anymore.

Her life often depended on this habit, and even in her darkest of moments, 'despair' had never been a part of her vernacular. This principle had held true even outside the Labyrinth, throughout the battle, and after it.

…All the way up until the moment she saw his body.

The sight of his lifeless, soaking-wet form on the floor of the workshop had at first elicited the same instinctive not-taking-this-lying-down stubbornness as everything else had… but it was fleeting. He wasn't breathing. His face was ashen. And he was growing colder by the minute.

He'd done it. The Crown was gone. But by consequence, so was he.

And now, as she cradled him in her arms, the harsh, cold, ruthless _reality_ of the situation hit her like a chunk of masonry. _There was nothing she could do._

* * *

"… _Chell?_ "

She didn't know how long they'd all been sitting there– a few minutes or an hour, it hardly mattered. She barely even heard the former-Queen's voice, her grief was so great.

But at last she looked up, wiping the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She stared hollowly at Glados– well, Caroline now, she supposed– whose presence she had very nearly forgotten entirely.

Caroline hesitated, though whether she was merely unsure of what she was about to say, or if she was a bit put-off by the bitterness in Chell's eyes, the archer didn't know. Presently, she cleared her throat.

"I know I'm not exactly… your favorite person in the world," she began. (Chell's glare would have darkened if she wasn't so surprised to hear the genuine contrition in her voice, after so long of hearing nothing out of her mouth but icy sarcasm. Although she supposed, looking back, with the influence of the Crown finally expunged from her mind it should be natural.)

"And I _am_ truly sorry. For everything. But…" the former-Queen's gaze moved from Chell, to Wheatley still lying in her lap, to Garret standing behind them looking warily on. "…If you'll let me, I think I might know how to help."

Chell and Garret exchanged quizzical looks. Neither of them had any idea what she had in mind, or how anything could possibly help now, and both were reluctant to trust her.

Which is why it was a surprise even to herself when Chell said in a low voice "…I'm listening."

The two of them watched as Caroline rose to her feet and walked to one of the massive cabinets set against the wall of the workshop. As she rummaged through it, they could see that its many shelves and drawers were filled to overflowing with countless bottles of various liquids and powders, each one labelled meticulously. The Queen, however, paid attention to none of them.

Instead, reaching as far back into the cabinet as she could, she turned the latch on a tiny hidden compartment, and returned to them upon recovering what was inside.

She held it out to them, and they immediately saw that it, too, was a vial of elixir, though it was unlike any of the others in the storeroom. The liquid shone a brilliant gold, as if the learned men of Castle Aperture had managed to capture drop of sunlight in the tiny bottle. The Lady Chell and Garret wondered at it, as Caroline explained.

"This," she said. "was the final project of Cave's learned men. They created it in secret, in case the Crown turned out to be merely a legend after all– a possibility that my husband simply refused to consider." She paused, smiling sadly. "He was always a fuddy-duddy that way… Of course, he passed away moments before his adventurers returned. And by the time he learned men thought to try out their potion, the Crown had been placed on me."

She lowered her head ruefully, Garret and Chell not needing her to elaborate further.

"Indeed, I only happened upon it by chance in my wanderings of the castle these last four years. I had an Ellet tell me what it was, and though I knew it would be useless to me as I was then, I had it hidden away down here, in case I could make use of it later on."

Even as she spoke, Chell could see gray streaks becoming visible in the former-Queen's auburn hair, and lines of age appearing on her fair skin. Indeed, the Crown had given her immortality while she'd worn it. Now that it was gone, time was beginning to catch up with her.

"It might be of use to you now, though," Garret said, eyeing her with suspicion. He readied a hand on the hilt of his sword, lest she try anything.

Caroline chuckled lightly. "Stay your blade, good sir," she said. "I know my time is up. Truly I have been waiting for this moment too long. But I would like to try and make amends before I go."

Her eyes met the Lady Chell's. "I couldn't save my own true love," she told her, with another sad and tired smile. "But if I can, I would like to save yours."

Chell was silent. She still didn't know if she fully trusted the former-Queen, as harmless as she now seemed. And she certainly didn't want to get her hopes up, only to have them be dashed if her plan failed.

And yet…

That tiny, insufferable, long-ignored voice in the deep recesses of her heart that, even after everything she'd faced, was still capable of _hope_ took over control of her muscles just long enough to cause her to nod her permission.

* * *

For the first few agonizing moments after Caroline poured the glowing potion into the fallen knight's mouth, nothing seemed to happen. Wheatley remained utterly motionless, and there was no indication the cure had taken any effect.

But just as Chell's spirits were beginning to plummet… she could have sworn she saw the slightest hint of color beginning to return to his face. She would have dismissed it as her broken heart causing her to see things, if she hadn't heard Garret's breath hitch behind her, indicating he noticed a change too.

Barely daring to hope, she pressed her ear to his chest, and was astounded to hear the sound of his heartbeat, and the beginnings of shallow breaths.

A cough.

Lady Chell pulled back slightly, and she and Garret brought him to a sitting position as his chest spasmed again and again, his lungs ejecting the water he had inhaled from the reservoir.

Finally, as the coughing died down and became slow gasps of air, Wheatley opened his eyes, and looked into Chell and Garret's astonished faces.

"Um… Does… does anyone," he wheezed. "want to ex-explain to me… what just happened?"

"You're alive," Chell breathed, tears beginning to run down her cheeks once again.

Wheatley blinked at her, and let out a fragile, surprised huff of a laugh. "I… gathered," he managed finally, understandably disoriented. "But- but how– And more importantly _why–_ I mean I thought that–" His eyes widened. "Wait a minute- the Crown! W-what happened to it, where is it?"

"It's gone, Wheatley," said Chell, running her hands through his wet hair to drive home the point that the artifact was no longer on his head. "You did it."

' _You did it.'_ Wheatley could barely remember the last time he had heard those words outside of a sarcastic context. As threads of recollection began to come back to him one by one, and stitch themselves together in his mind, he found he still had several rather pressing questions about the whole situation… but the exhaustion he felt was making it rather hard to think right now. (And most of his cognitive processes were more-or-less taken up with the realization that he was more or less in Chell's lap anyway.)

Garret sensed this. "We'll explain it to you later, buddy," he said. "Just take it easy for now. You've ah… kinda been through a lot."

"Yeah, sorry mate," Wheatley replied as his breathing finally returned to normal. "Just, y'know, _death_ – it sort of takes a lot out of you…"

His head came to rest on the Lady Chell's shoulder as he smiled weakly up at her.

"A-and sorry if I worried you, luv." he said. "But it- it really was the only way–"

Chell shushed him. She didn't need explanations. She didn't need apologies. She was far too relieved that he was actually back.

Her joy and disbelief were so great, in fact, that she paid no mind to the fact that he was still sopping-wet from head to toe, when she wrapped her arms more securely around him and brought her lips to his.


End file.
